Dreaming of Reality
by Imjusthere61944
Summary: One year after killing Vicious, Spike is called out of a self-imposed exile when corrupt officials in ISSP, who consider him and his connections to the Red Dragons a loose end, place a substantial bounty on his head. Spike's fight for survival pits him against old friends and gains him new ones as the old Bebop crew is brought together once more with some new faces as well.
1. Two rountines collide

Usual disclaimer of course. I don't own Cowboy Bebop or it's characters. Also, I'd like to dedicate this to my Girlfriend who got me to watch the show. Love you dear ;).

* * *

Chapter 1

Two routines collide

Floating near the Asteroid Belt, the great ring of space rock that divides the Inner Planets from the Outer Planets of Earth's solar system was the great city of Outland Station. Of course, that had not been its original name, but the nickname had stuck, and now few remembered it as anything else. It had started as a simple space station, and turned into a vital stopover point for both civilian and military convoys alike making the journey from the Inner planets to the Outer. The position of the station being located near a sector where the asteroids in the belt were smaller and less plentiful then others, the station had quickly grown into a full blown city. But, like any city, Outland Station had its problems. The reason it was known as "Outland Station" was not just because of it being a stopover point on the way to the Outer planets, but also due to a rather high crime rate.

The wealthy of Outland Station were those who owned the docking areas. Those who could charge tariffs on the cargos of the convoys, and for providing services like repairs and refueling. For the most part, these areas were monopolized by a few. This meant that a massive gap between rich and poor and opened up in Outland Station. The poor areas of the city were often slum-like and crime ridden. In the Upper West side of the city, one such of these areas, in an apartment building whose outsides and insides were covered in graffiti, dirt, and other such blemishes lived Elliot DeLowe.

He was a young man in his early twenties with dark brown hair. He was not very buff, nor very tall at only five foot eight. Indeed, most who saw him would often remark at how they boy could be knocked over with a feather, but then most who saw him in his neighborhood were tough gangsters. Elliot did his best to stay clear of them, but it did not stop him from having to interact with them. This particular day was no different. After waking, dressing, and making himself a sandwich from the meager ingredients in his fridge (being a stock boy, he made a modest income) Elliot exited the apartment, catching the door when it fell off of its hinges and placing it back in its frame as he did almost every morning, and started walking down the street toward his place of work.

The massive glass dome that covered Outland Station had special pigments built in that allowed the climate controllers to create what appeared to be a blue sky with a few puffy white clouds. However, beyond the glass was the darkness of space along with the twinkling stars of space. For this reason, the pigments were often deactivated at night to create the illusion of a night sky. But now, the illusion of a blue sky was needed. There was also a fake sun created in the pigments, but it gave no actual light. The city itself was illuminated by the thousands of lights of buildings. The light was always an almost artificial yellow, so that combined with the blue sky illusion created an almost surreal atmosphere, but having lived on the station all his life, Elliot was used to it. Now, as he gazed up at the blue sky while walking down the street, he failed to notice the three burly men who stepped out of an alleyway into his path until he ran into one of them.

"Well, well, well, look who it is. You're right on time for your daily appointment." The leader of the group, a particularly large man name "Breaker" for reasons involving doing severe injury to his victims said with mock humor.

Elliot stumbled back a little and looked up at Breaker (the man was six foot five, and so towered above him).

"Hello Breaker, you're out early aren't you?" Elliot noted in a voice that carried his exhaustion.

This was just another regular thing, though usually Breaker and his 'associates' did not shake him down until Elliot was on his way home from work, not on the way to.

"Yeah well, 'early bird gets the worm' and all that you know? So, what'd you got for us today?" Breaker demanded, stepping forward and grabbing the bag that held Elliot's lunch. He handed the back to one of his flankers, a bald man with a enormous gut, who started rifling through the bag while Breaker turned his attention back to Elliot.

"So…?" he said impatiently.

Elliot let out a sigh and reached into his pocket before withdrawing his wallet. He tossed it to Breaker who opened it and removed the few Woolongs that were inside. He then threw it at Elliot feet and counted out his score, causing him to scowl.

"This is chickenshit money!" he muttered.

"Sorry, I wasn't aware the rent was due." Elliot muttered sarcastically.

Breaker reached out and grabbed the young man by the collar, pulling him close.

"You think you're pretty funny don't you wise ass? Let's see you laugh with a bullet in your tongue." The gangster hissed, pulling a gun from the back of his pants and pointing it right between Elliot's eyes.

Elliot's face filled with fear, much to Breaker's satisfaction. He loved scaring the piss out these small ass working man suckers.

"You better hope you got more in that wallet when we check back with you tomorrow, Elliot." He said, taking his gun away from Elliot's face after letting the poor boy stew in fear for several agonizing seconds.

Breaker let him go and tossed him to the ground. The three gangsters laughed as they walked around Elliot before heading off down the sidewalk.

"Yeah, and less Ganymede Seaweed on the sandwich next time asshole!" the large man who was currently munching down on Elliot's lunch shouted back.

One he was sure all of their backs were turned; Elliot slapped his bicep at the retreating gangsters. Of course, it was an empty threat, he could never fight them. He tried fighting back, back when they had first started shaking him down. They nearly hospitalized him. The second time he tried running, but Breaker soon figured out where he lived, and that night they paid Elliot a visit. That time his landlord _had_ had rush Elliot to the hospital. After this last thrashing, Elliot had given into the inevitable, and it had become routine for the three gangsters to raid his wallet weekly, almost daily now.

He continued his walk to work, looking more dejected now and wondering what he was going to eat for his lunch, or worse yet, how this loss of Woolongs would further affect his funds. His day wasn't starting out as the best. Then again, it couldn't get much worse.

Could it?

* * *

"_I'm the only one who can awaken you!"_

"_Julia's dead, let's finish this!" _

"_It's all just a dream…"_

Spike Spiegel awoke in bed with a gasp. Reflexively, he reached under his pillow and pulled his Jericho 941 aiming it at the blank wall of his bedroom before him, somehow expecting someone to be there. When it became clear he was alone, Spike let out a sigh and placed the pistol back under his pillow. He then lay back and rubbed his tousled green hair with one hand. It had all been a bad dream. Just a dream, just like she had said. It was all just a dream now.

"Julia." Spike whispered to no one.

Deciding he needed a drink, Spike got out of bed and dressed in his usual attire, a blue jacket with a yellow shirt and tie, along with a pair of blue pants. He had not changed his outfit in over four years. Why start now? After dressing, he headed into the kitchen, which was connected to his bedroom directly by a door (his meager funds not allowing him to rent much larger than a bachelor's apartment in one of the more seedy parts of the station). This was a part of Spike's daily routine he had followed for the last year since he had fled to Outland Station.

However, this particular morning he opened the fridge and was disappointed to find that there was only a meager half-glass left in the bottle of whisky he usually kept. Heaving a sigh, the former bounty hunter plumped down in a chair near his kitchen table, which was little more than an old card table he had scavenged from a dumpster, and drank the remains in the bottle without even bothering with a glass. When this was done, he put his feet up on the table and reached into his jacket pocket from which he pulled a pack of cigarettes. Upon opening the pack and finding only four cigarettes remained, Spike sighed for the third time in the last ten minutes.

Everything was running on empty it seemed.

"Oh, well, guess I'll hit the Spigot." He thought, getting up from the table and taking a lighter from his pocket to light his cig before heading for the front door.

He stopped suddenly, remembering his gun and headed into the bedroom to retrieve it from under the pillow. He then paused briefly to grab a grey trench coat that he kept in the closet and, after sliding it on, headed out the door of the apartment and into the hallway. The place was a total wreck as usual. Wall paper was peeling off, empty beer bottles and boxes littered the floor, and Spike stepped over the splayed feet of a passed out homeless man who was lying against the wall of the hallway.

"God damn it, I really should of gone with the other place." Spike thought as he headed down the stairs, avoiding the broken ones along the way.

Once he was outside, Spike hoisted his collar so that it was covering his face a bit before heading down the sidewalk. Most of the people he passed by paid little attention to him, and that was how Spike liked it. Anonymity was his goal. Besides, it wasn't like he was doing anything different. He often made the walk to the Spigot, a local bar just down the block.

It was your average hole in the wall joint. A dirty sign advertised the name above the doorway as Spike entered the smoke filled bar. It was small really. Three small, circular tables were off to the left of the room, but the majority of it was taken up by the bar counter, behind which stood a barman with balding grey hair was cleaning a glass in obvious boredom. He perked up when he saw Spike.

"Hey, Spike, good morning to you." He said cheerfully, he was always happy to see his regulars.

"Morning, Greg, bottle of the usual." Spike muttered, taking some Woolongs from his pocket and tossing them on the counter.

"Sure thing, and hey, if your Woolongs are running low, I gotta job for you if you're interested." Greg said as he took the money and placed a bottle of Uncle Jack's Old Fashioned whisky and a glass in its place.

"Maybe later." Spike apathetically as he took the bottle and started walking toward the tables.

"Want some company?" asked a familiar voice.

Spike looked up from staring at the bottle in his hand and saw Kyle, a older man in his fifties with a grey mustache and grey hair to match seated at one of the tables.

"Why not." Said Spike, sitting down across from the former soldier.

The two had met when Spike first started coming to the Spigot. Like Spike, Kyle was a regular as well. Over the months, they had become "drinking buddies" in a way. They did not get together outside of the bar, and did not even know the others last name. Over time, they swapped story after story while drinking together. Kyle was one of the few that knew the story of Vicious, Julia, and the Bebop (all of which had come out in conversations, often when Spike had had too many) while Spike had heard many horror stories from Kyle of his army days. Each had become the others confidant.

"You run out of juice already?" Kyle noted as Spike sat down.

Spike just grunted and pulled the cap from the bottle before pouring some into the glass and gulping it down in one go.

"Another nightmare? You usually don't drink this early."

"Do you mind?"

Spike wasn't really in a talking mood. Julia's face swam before him and he wanted to be rid of it. To that end, he filled the glass once more and downed it.

Kyle just shrugged and went back to silently drinking. It was nothing different to him. Spike usually opened up after he had finished his bottle and was either tipsy or just flat out drunk. However, by his third glass Spike had stopped drinking and had taken to just staring at the glass of whisky blankly. After several rather uncomfortable minutes, Kyle cleared his throat.

"Uuuh, you gonna drink that?" he asked.

Spike said nothing, but slid the glass toward him, which Kyle accepted gratefully and drank while Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He took out one and started to pull out his lighter when Kyle cut in.

"You got an extra?" he asked.

Spike paused for a moment, then reached and pulled out the pack, offering Kyle his second to last cigarette. The vet took it gratefully and lit it with his own lighter. Spike said nothing, but continued to stare blankly, this time at the single remaining cigarette in the pack in his hand.

"Keep the bottle." He said at last, standing up from the table and heading out of the bar.

Kyle watched Spike through the window of the bar that looked out onto the street as the green haired young man headed down the sidewalk.

"I'll never understand him." Kyle thought with a shake of his head before refilling his glass.

No sense in wasting the booze.

* * *

Elliot arrived at work in a timely manner in spite of his encounter with Breaker and his friends. Miss Angstrom, the owner of the small grocery store called "Corner Shop" was a widow in her 60s. She smiled and greeted him as she always did when he arrived at work in the morning. She was a kindly woman, as was demonstrated later when, after a few hours of taking inventory and stocking, the clock struck noon. Miss Angstrom, noting that Elliot had not stopped working and taken his lunch break, ceased over the accounts and called to the young man.

"No lunch for you today, Elliot dear?" she inquired.

"The Cantina Crew shook me down this morning and took my lunch, I'm afraid." Elliot explained with a shake of his head.

Miss Angstrom laughed, and shook her heard. This was a story she had heard many times before. The poor young lad had been robbed almost daily, usually on the way home from, but sometimes on the way to, work.

"Honestly, Elliot, I wish you'd just let me call the police."

"It'd do no good, they'd just come after you, ma'am." Elliot replied, "But thank you."

Miss Angstrom smiled and reached into a nearby basket, withdrawing from it an apple which she then handed to Elliot.

"Here, eat up, I need you in peak physical condition for this evening's inventory." She said.

"No, I couldn't…" Elliot began, starting to hand the apple back, but Miss Angstrom thrust it back into his hand.

"Take it, for goodness sake, it's just an apple."

Elliot stared at the small piece of fruit for a moment, and then took an appreciative bite. He nodded and proceeded to eat more of the succulent fruit. Miss Angstrom watched him for a minute.

"So how much did they make off with this time?" she asked after a few minutes silence.

"It doesn't matter."

"Do you need a bit of money Elliot? You know I can…"

"I could never ask that of you."

"Well, then you could always ask your…?" Miss Angstrom began, but a look from Elliot cut her off.

She was touching on a sensitive subject and she knew it, so she clammed up. Seeing the pained look on Miss Angstrom's face, Elliot reached out a put a hand on her arm.

"You've been like a mother to me Miss Agnstrom, giving me this job and helping with the apartment and all, but I could never ask for your money."

At that, the elderly woman laughed. "But I DO pay you after all."

"True." Said Elliot in a mock thoughtful tone.

They both laughed then. Unfortunately, the laughter soon died away when the front door to the store opened, announced by the jingling of the bell hanging from it. Miss Angstrom dutifully moved away from Elliot and back behind the counter, expecting customers. However, the "customers" were revealed to be three very burly men wearing tattered clothes. The leader of them was covered in tattoos, and Elliot, who had gone back to restocking the shelf, watched the crew from out of the corner of his eye as they approached the counter.

"May I help you gentlemen?" asked with Angstrom, trying to conceal her nervousness. The shop had been robbed before, but that was when her husband was still alive and he had handled it.

"Yeah, I'll take a bottle hooch, two packs of cigs, and 50% of what's in the register." The leader of the men ordered her gruffly.

At these words, Elliot stopped stocking and looked over at the group. The three men were all staring intently at the shocked Miss Angstrom, and since none of them were paying attention to him, he reached over and grabbed a bottle of soy sauce, the large kind, and held it close intending to use it as a weapon if necessary.

"Sirs, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Miss Angstrom said in a brave a voice as she could muster.

At that, the three men all laughed, a harsh cold laugh.

"Alright, you wanna do this the hard way granny? Fair enough…" the leader said, pulling a knife from his pocket and brandishing it.

Elliot had heard enough. With a shout he lunged at the back of the man with the bottle in his hand raised. However, one of the men flanking the bulky, knife-wielding maniac reacted first. The man grabbed the bottle and ripped it from Elliot's hand before punching him in the gut. Elliot groaned in pain as he fell back against the shelf nearby and crumpled to the floor.

"Spunky little shit ain't he?" observed the man with the knife, grinning at the young stock boy who was clutching his stomach and gritting his teeth against the sharp pain that emanated from it.

"We'll deal with him after we finish with you old lady." He continued, turning back to Miss Angstrom, raising the knife, "last chance, you gonna fork over the money?"

Miss Angstrom looked over at the injured Elliot, then back at the gangster with a look of anger and defiance.

"No." she said firmly.

"Alright…" the leader raised the knife, and was just about to bring it down onto Miss Angstrom's hand when the bell rang once more.

The three men turned around in surprise, and even the pained Elliot turned his head to see who could have entered at this pivotal moment. The slow, almost arthritic footfalls drew closer and closer until the owner of the feet appeared around the shelf. He was a tall lanky man with startling green hair where a brown trench coat over a blue jacket and tie along with a pair of blue pants and matching blue shoes. The strangest thing about the stranger was his complete obliviousness to the situation as he walked, slowly but deliberately toward the front counter. He moved around the three men, not seeming to even take notice of the knife in the main gangster's hand.

"Can I get a pack of Slims?" the stranger inquired upon reaching the counter, addressing Miss Angstrom while still ignoring the imposing robbers.

"Hey, asshole, we're kinda busy here. Why don't you take a walk?" the man with the knife growled.

The green-haired man said nothing for a minute before, without even turning to look at the man, repeated his request to Miss Angstrom.

"One pack please."

"Hey, you deaf or something, I said get the hell out!" this time the leader put his free hand on the stranger's shoulder and pulled him back a little.

The man pulled his shoulder from the gangster's grip and, still not turning to look at him, muttered: "the next hand you're gonna lose."

"Oh, a tough guy huh?" the man with the knife stepped back a bit and then gestured toward the new arrival, "turn this asshole inside out." He barked to his flankers.

The two men moved in eagerly. However, the first one threw a punch that the green-haired man dodged easily by ducking before turning and delivering a vicious kick to the man stomach, causing him to stumble back. The second man then moved in and attempted several haymakers toward the stranger's face, but once again the man either dodged them or blocked them with incredible ease. Once the man had finished his attempts, the latter punched him square in the jaw, sending him stumbling back as well and causing the second man to crash into the third and both falling in a heap on the ground. This just left the man with the knife, who went into a fighting stance, knife at the ready. The green-haired man's eyes never left the flashing blade. The gangster took a swing which his opponent jumped back from. The attacker attempted another slash, but the stranger dodged this as well, then in a lighting quick motion grabbed the gangster's hand clutching the blade and gave the wrist a vicious twist. The pop of the man's wrist breaking was clearly audible.

"AAAAAH!" the injured crook screamed as he crumpled to the floor clutching his dislocated wrist, dropping his knife in the process which clattered to the floor.

The green-haired savior looked around him. The two men he had fought first were still trying to get over the blows dealt them, and seeing they were no longer a threat, the stranger turned back to Miss Angstrom.

"So…pack of slims please." He said.

Still in utter shock and trying to absorb the conflict that had just happened before her, the elderly woman reached under the counter and placed a pack of said cigarettes before the man. He nodded gratefully.

"How much?" he inquired.

"It's…uh…it's on the house." Miss Angstrom said in a shaky voice.

The stranger took the pack off the counter with a small smile. "Much obliged."

Meanwhile, the first crook who was relatively unharmed, had begun to crawl slowly toward the knife lying on the floor and was now reaching for it. Seeing this, Elliot, who was attempting to get to his feet after the pain in his gut had subsided, opened his mouth to call out a warning, but never got the chance. The green-haired man, once more in a swift, almost liquid motion, reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol which he whirled around and aimed at the man going for the knife.

"I'd leave it there if I were you." The man said coolly.

The gangster halted immediately, staring up at the gun in fear. The man holding the piece took a cigarette from his new pack and placed it in his mouth before putting the pack in his coat pocket. From the same pocket his withdrew a lighter and lit the small, white tube of tobacco, all while still holding his foe at gunpoint. After he had lit the cigarette and given a long, stratified draw off it, he looked back at his hostage.

"Your friend there's wrist is broken. I suggest you get him to a hospital. Go on." He said, gesturing toward the lead gangster who was still clutching his wrist and moaning in pain.

Keeping his gun on them the whole time, the man watched as the three would be robbers, the two uninjured ones supporting their leader, made their way toward the front door of the store. As they went hwoever, the leader turned back to the stranger with fire in his eyes.

"This isn't over!" he hissed, before allowing his friends to escort him out of the store.

Once the men were gone, the green-haired man placed his gun back in his coat pocket and turned to Elliot.

"You ok?" he asked.

"Yeah." Said Elliot with a nod.

"Alright." The stranger muttered before slipping his hands in his pockets and heading for the door himself.

"Wait, sir…" Miss Angstrom called.

The mysterious man stopped, but did not turn around. Miss Angstrom cleared her throat nervously.

"Thank you, Mr…?"

The man was silent for a minute.

"Spiegel." He said simply, before walking, perhaps a bit quickly, toward the front door. The jingling of the bell announced his egress.

Miss Angstrom started going off about the oddness of their savior, and the luckiness of it all, but Elliot, who was still staring at the spot where the man had been standing when he said his name was not paying much attention to her.

"Spiegel." He whispered.

He'd remember that name.

* * *

_Lots of unanswered questions, but that's the Bebop way no? Please remember to review and give me first impressions. Cheers. _


	2. The Calling

Chapter 2

The Calling

The sounds of drunken laughter and the ringing and dinging of bells filled the air of the Maitland Casino. The gambling joint was rather popular with a big spender crowd and was having one of its best nights. The roulette wheels turned, the lights of the slot machines created a dizzying array of flashes and blinks, and many guests simply sat at the mini bars scattered around the joint drinking and taking in the humanity. Seated at one of the black jack tables was a man in his mid thirties with black hair that was spiked at the bangs. Two young, scantily clad women sat on either side of him and the man laughed and drank as he continued to play at his favorite game.

"Hit me!" he said gleefully.

The dealer, a young woman in her mid-twenties wearing the classical black suit of a casino dealer, obliged and laid a queen of hearts down on the man's face up card which was a three of clubs. The man looked at his hidden card and grinned.

"Stay!"

The dealer looked at her own cards and then back up at the man. Most of the other players had left the table after losing gratuitous amounts of money. This particular player however had lost only three times in the last three hours.

"The house stays." She said in a soft tone before flipping over her cards, revealing a ten of spades and a nine of diamonds.

"Nineteen."

The remaining gambler laughed heartily as he turned over his hidden card, revealing a four of spades.

"Twenty-one!" he announced gleefully before gathering the chips at the center of the table.

The two women on either side of him giggled happily and both rubbed the man's back. Ignoring the sycophants, the dealer continued to stare at the player.

"What's the matter, babe? You're not a sore loser are you?" the man sneered, noting the way the violet haired woman was looking at him with her startlingly green eyes.

"No, it's not really my money after all. But what does concern me is the money a few casinos would pay to have you brought in, Mr. Gale." She said slowly, deliberately.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" the player identified as Mr. Gale said in surprise.

"Oh please, spare me the act; I've been watching you count the cards all night." The dealer said with an air of superiority before reaching under the table and pulling out a pistol which she aimed at him.

"What the hell?! Are you crazy?! What kind of joint is this?!" Mr. Gale gasped, staring at the gun in terror.

"Yeah see the thing is, I don't work for this "joint", Mr. Gale. You have a nice sized bounty on you, and I plan to cash you in." the dealer announced with a grin.

At this, the man frowned and stood with a huff.

"A cowboy huh? Well, you're not gonna take me in that easy, bitch!" he hissed before grabbing the woman on his right side and shoving her toward the table.

The woman fell on top of the tables green matted surface and as she did so, she hit the bounty hunter's hand, causing her aim to mar so that when she fired the gun in response the bullet slammed harmlessly into the table. By the time that Faye Valentine had brought the gun back up to aim another shot the whole casino was in chaos as people screamed and ran around in fear following the gunshot. Mr. Gale had already fled into the crowd.

"Shit! Jet, he got away, he's somewhere on the gambling floor!" Faye spoke into an earpiece as she leaped over the black jack table and began to push and shove through the panicking populace.

"What!? You let him escape?" Jet's reprimanding voice responded, causing Faye to roll her eyes.

"Can we save the 'how could you screw this one up?' speech for later? This guy's getting away."

Across the gambling floor on the other side stood Jet Black, who now had his own gun out and was scanning the sea of panicked and fleeing pedestrians before him. He managed to spot the target fighting his way toward a door that read "Employees only."

"He's heading for a staff door behind the third slot row." Jet reported as he too began to fight his way through the fleeing gamblers toward the door.

Faye likewise did the same and they managed to meet up just in front of the door. Faye pulled at the handle, but the door did not budge.

"He's locked it!"

"Stand back!" Jet ordered her before taking a step back himself.

He threw himself forward, the shoulder of his fake metal arm slamming into the flimsy wood door, causing it to come off of its hinges. With their way no longer obscured, the pair ran through the door which led into a hallway. Faye turned just in time to see their target running through another door just down the hall.

"There!" she shouted, racing toward the door which was still open and was revealed to lead into the kitchens.

Faye entered first with Jet just behind her. It was lucky he was. Mr. Gale, who was waiting for them, threw a knife at her.

"Look out!" Jet warned, grabbing Faye's shirt and pulling her back.

The knife just barely missed Faye's nose as it slammed into the wall and stuck deep into it. Mr. Gale cursed and continued his flight deeper into the kitchen, pushing aside kitchen staff.

"C'mon, he's getting away!" Faye said, getting back on her balance and continuing the pursuit.

Jet shook his head. "You're welcome he muttered."

Faye did not reply, but continued her pursuit. As Jet watched her go, a thought occurred to him and he ran back out of the kitchen door. Meanwhile, Faye pushed past two cooks, hot on the heels of Mr. Gale who kept glancing back at her. The violet haired woman was tempted to try and put a bullet in her target's knee or something, but did not want to risk it. He was worth nothing dead after all. So she only continued the zig zag pursuit until they reached another door through which Mr. Gale charged blindly. However, as soon as he had burst through, he found himself staring down the barrel of Jet's gun.

"Oh shit!" he muttered, turning to look at Faye who was now behind him with her own gun raised.

"Whoops." Said Faye with a grin of triumph while Mr. Gale raised his hands in the air in defeat.

Faye loved it when she won.

* * *

Towering above many of the other buildings of the great city on Mars was the Hotel Galilee. It was considered the finest hotel on Mars, and had two of its floors dedicated purely to conference and banquet rooms. On the thirty-sixth floor the great hotel, in one of these said conference rooms, a meeting was taking place that had happened in several decades.

The Calling was its official name, though it was known on the street as the "Syndicate Conventions". This was a series of meetings between representatives of every criminal Syndicate from across the universe, as well as some of the more important interests, such as the Gate Corporation and ISSP. The Calling was a rare occasion indeed (primarily due to the fact that getting nearly thirty different Syndicates, many of which were rivals, to convene in the same place without bloodshed was difficult at best) , but now urgent mattered called for attending. A large rectangular table was hosting at least forty people who were all chattering in voices ranging from agitation to excitement.

The voices were quieted by a man in his mid-fifties, with gray thinning hair and a matching mustache banging a gavel on the wooden table.

"Gentlemen, quiet please!" he called above the din, which swiftly subsided to silence.

"Right, if we can get to the business at hand…"

"Are you sure this is wise?" one of the other representatives cut in, "some of us have the ISSP breathing down our necks and you would risk this gathering?"

"I can assure you gentlemen, ISSP will not disturb The Calling." Jason Wake, Vice-Commissioner of ISSP stood up as he spoke these words. He was a man in his mid-forties wearing a brown dress suit with a black tie.

"If you're so sure of your control of the ISSP, then why are they raiding our drug dens and seizing our assets?" demanded the Syndicate representative who had spoken earlier.

"I can't fully control the actions of individual ISSP branches; of you don't pay off the right people, then…"

"Bullshit, the new head Commissioner is a reformer and we all know it. He's already ordered a full crackdown on the Red Dragon's and you've done little to stop that!"

"The Red Dragon's are dying, there's no point in keeping them on life support much longer, it's a waste of resources and an unnecessary risk."

"That's sounds like excuses to me! Why don't you just admit that your grip on the ISSP is slipping with the election of Garcia to the head office? He's an idealist who doesn't play ball, how long do you think it will take for him to go after corruption in the ISSP? In fact, I hear that detective Grayson is now on trial for…"

"This is pure conjecture. There is nothing to prove that we don't have control of the ISSP. As long as payments are received on time, I can assure everyone in this meeting room that they are safe from major police intervention." Wake insisted.

"Gentlemen, if we could please stay on the matter at hand." The grey-haired man at the head of the table insisted with a bang of the gavel.

"And just what is the matter at hand?" asked one of the other Reps, this one being young man who represented the Gate Corporations interests with the Syndicates.

"The Red Dragons."

"There are good as dead!" said the man who had previously been in argument with Wake.

"We are aware of that, Silas, so what is to be done about their territory and previous contacts?"

"We follow the guidelines set by the first Calling. Their territory will be divided equally and all records kept by the Syndicate will be destroyed." Said the head of the table.

"And how do we know they agree to this? I can't help but notice there is no representation of the Red Dragons here." Silas pointed out.

"They refused to send representation without consent from their leader."

"Pfft, they are leaderless!" said another Rep with a derisive snort.

"Not according to them."

"Come now, Asker, they have no leadership. The only man who they identify as their leader has not been heard from, nor seen since the raid on the hospital last year."

The older gentlemen, identified as Asker, stroked his mustache for a moment.

"True, but regardless of whether they agree to it, if this Calling agrees on it, they will hand over their territory and records regardless." He said finally.

"And if they refuse?"

"We shall force them."

"Who, your syndicate? What authority have you to do so?"

"If the Calling so dictates…"

"I will not allow you to use the word of this Calling to condone your aggressive expansion into the Mars territory!" Silas shouted, his anger boiling over.

There was an uncomfortable silence, which was broken only by the occasional murmur from the other Reps. After a few long, awkward minutes, Asker cleared his throat.

"These arguments are for another time. For now the question before us is the dissolution of the Red Dragon Syndicate. All in favor of dissolution raise your hands."

Slowly, solemnly, every hand at the table went up. Upon taking a quick check, Asker nodded.

"Very well, the Red Dragon Syndicate is no more. This Calling will adjourn for now until other specification are worked out and agreed upon. Until then, gentlemen, if you are hungry we have a lovely banquet set up in the adjacent room. If not, we shall see you soon."

The meeting ended, and many, upon standing from the table, simply left, thought a few headed into the next room to enjoy the repast. Among them was Asker himself accompanied by a younger man who was also a representative of the Opal Ring Syndicate, a Earth based syndicate that both men were members of (and of which Asker was actually the leader). As they helped themselves to wine and other refinements, Asker sipped at a glass of red wine thoughtfully. His companion waited in silence for the elder gentlemen to finish his processes.

"Not a bad vintage." Asker observed after a while, "Though I prefer an older one myself."

"I don't mind it." The younger noted, taking a sip at his glass of vintage.

"The fools." Said the former in a quiet voice, "They'll continue to pussyfoot and squabble until the ISSP have them by the necks."

"But Commissioner Wake insists that…"

"Commissioner Wake is weak; like the rest of those bumbling idiots in the department. Garcia will weed them out one by one. We can no longer rely on them to keep a muzzle on ISSP. Something will have to be done." Asker replied with a sigh.

"And what of our own affairs?"

"I won't wait for this Calling to approve. Time is running short. We shall proceed as planned."

"Then I may call Schroeder and…?"

"Yes, tell him to proceed with the job."

"Is that wise sir? If the other Syndicate find out, they might…"

"I don't give a damn about the other Syndicates." Asker snapped, "They will be too busy with their heads up their arses to realize that we have taken over Mars, and by the time they do realize it, it will be too late."

The younger nodded, and then headed off. Asker watched him go before turning to look back at the few others guests who were also dining.

"Fools…" he thought smugly, "The only way anyone gains power is by being bold and _seizing _it when the opportunity comes."

But while Asker was dreaming of his power, another conversation was taking place just outside the doors of the Hotel Galilee on the sidewalk far below. Commissioner Wake and his subordinate stood close to one another, whispering intently.

"What do you think?" asked the young man.

"That they are a bunch of quibbling ninnies. They'll be fighting for weeks over Mars, and we'll be right in the thick of it." Wake whispered back.

"And what about the Red Dragons? They are right you know, Garcia plans to clean out the department."

"I know."

"Grayson is facing a jury right now, how long before Garcia comes after us?"

"Relax, Garcia has no evidence on either of us."

"But the Red Dragons can provide that, and they'll be desperate now that the other Syndicates no longer recognize them."

"We need to secure they're financial records. They're the only thing that could possibly incriminate those of us in the department who supported them. Tell Kerry to get a team together and hit the Red Dragon headquarters. They are weak, it will be easy." Wake ordered the latter, who nodded and began to head off down the street.

However, Wake called after him.

"One more thing!"

The young man turned to him.

"Spiegel."

"What about him?"

"He needs to be taken care of."

"Why? No one has heard from him in almost a year."

"We don't know how much _he_ knows. What if he pops up tomorrow and testifies against our entire branch of the department? No, he's a loose end that needs to be dealt with."

"Very well, but how?"

Wake was silent for a moment as he pondered the question.

"Place a bounty on him. He's the leader of a dangerous crime syndicate after all. Fix a nice juicy price to his head and I'm sure someone will drop him into our laps. We can deal with him then." He said finally.

"Ok, how 'juicy' are we talking here?"

"Substantial, I want every bounty hunter in the galaxy on his ass 24/7. Understood?"

"Yes sir." The young man said with a nod before heading off down the side walk once more.

Wake watched him go, and then looked back up toward the top of the hotel where the Reps were likely dinning.

"This entire thing is turning on us." He thought wearily, but then his face turned to that of determination.

"But I won't go down without a fight, that's for damn sure."

He then started off the down the street himself, his footsteps echoing throughout the mainly deserted place. The Calling was traditionally held late at night, a time when there were less prying eyes about. However, he failed to see the shadowy figure who had been listening in on the conversation between himself and the young subordinate. Now, after checking to make sure the coast was clear, the mysterious eavesdropper pulled his coat tighter around him and started off down the street as well, but in the opposite direction of the two previous men.

She had quite a report to give.

* * *

_Well, we get a brief look at how Jet and Faye are getting on. That's always nice. Then we get to watch the 'honor among thieves' at work as they all round on each other like wolves when things go awry. Plus we get to add in a mysterious lady, more mystery for the Bebop machine. Don't forget to drop a review, it's always nice to hear from the readers. Cheers. _


	3. Sucker Punch

Chapter 3

Sucker punch

Jet let out a sigh as he stared out the front windows of the Bebop. The stars stretching out before him somehow seemed to magnify his loneliness. The great ship felt all the emptier after he had dropped off a bounty head. Normally he'd be cooking a celebratory meal and listening to Spike complain about it right about now. Well, he wasn't completely alone. The door to the cabin opened and Faye entered wearing a bathrobe and her hair wrapped in a towel.

"You got my half?" she inquired as she stopped to remove the towel and squeeze a bit of water out of her hair.

Jet said nothing for a minute, just stared at Faye. Finally, he reached over and grabbed a card off of the table which he held out to her. Faye grabbed it, but the latter did not release his grip, causing her to look up at him in confusion.

"So that's it huh? You come by, looking for a bounty head, we catch him, bring him in, collect the money, and you take right off again." He said without bothering to hide his disappointment

"Yeah, more or less." Faye said bluntly before tugging the card out of Jet's hand.

She then moved around the balding man's wide frame and began to head back for the door. Jet sighed as he turned to watch her go and called after her.

"Why don't you just move back in?"

Faye stopped and looked back at Jet with an expression that he couldn't really interpret.

"You've done this every month for the last year and I'm getting sick and tired of it, Faye. I'm not just gonna be a source of Woolongs for you. If you want to spend any more time on this ship, then stay for longer than one night for once."

Jet's frustration was not unfounded. Faye often headed off to God knows where for weeks on end. She would show up usually at the beginning of every month looking for bounty heads. She would then help Jet capture his targets and claim a whole half of the bounty which she would take, and then disappear for another four months. The violet haired young woman had stayed one night on the ship since Spike's departure and that was the night that he had departed; after that, she had left the ship the next morning and only ever come back to eat, use the shower, and get money from the bounties. Frankly, it was starting to get irritating.

"You know, you give me this exact same speech every time I'm about to leave, but you always let me back in Jet. Maybe you just can stand not having the company."

"I'm doing fine! I figured it'd be easier for you, but if you're going to be that way about it, fine, go!" Jet shot back at her.

Faye said nothing, but did turn around and leave the room. A little while later, Jet sat on the couch and listened as Faye's ship departed the Bebop. He stood then and headed back to the window. He watched the Red Tail speed off into the seemingly endless blackness of space. Now he was truly alone.

Jet knew why she didn't stay. He understood it in a way. There were so many memories inside the halls of the ship. Not just for her, but for all of them. Faye was the type who avoided all that. Ever since she had found her childhood home she had made an effort to avoid her old memories as if they were poisonous, and perhaps in a way they were. The gruff Jet rarely displayed any sort of attachment to others. But as the months had gone by the truth was becoming more and more apparent. Jet was missing the old days. The only contact he had was often in the interest of business, aside from when Faye would show up looking for bounty heads. Now, as he stared out the window, a thought passed through his mind.

"Why not give it up? Get rid of the Bebop and join up with some other bounty hunting outfit. At least you wouldn't be all alone in this tin can anymore."

No, Jet shook his head. The Bebop was his ship, he'd stick with her to the end, no matter how empty or full she was.

The communicator beeping drew Jet out of his thoughts and he returned to the couch before pressing on the screen. The face of Bob, Jet's old acquaintance from his ISSP days shimmered onto the square screen.

"Bob! You got a new bounty for me already?" Jet inquired in amazement. It usually took his old colleague a few days to come up with a bounty head.

"Jet, we need to talk, it's urgent."

"What's the matter?"

"Not over comms, can you get to Mars?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Ok, meet me in the usual spot, and hurry." With that, the communication ended.

Jet sat back, looking down at the now blank screen thoughtfully. That was rather unusual. Deciding that the best way to find out what was going on was to meet with Bob. Standing up, he headed for the helm of the ship to set course.

His loneliness would have to wait.

* * *

Elliot arrived on time for work as per usual the following day. He was in a good mood primarily due to the fact that Breaker and his crew had not robbed him that morning (of course that didn't mean that they wouldn't hit him after work). But that all dissipated when he rounded the corner into sight of "Corner Shop." Several police vehicles were parked outside the store with their lights flashing. Upon catching sight of this, Elliot began to run down the street. He reached the door of the shop and found the whole place in utter disarray. Shelves had been overturned and good lay all around on the floor, some trampled and smashed. The floor was covered in food and liquid. The front window of the store had been shattered as well. As he made his way through the destruction he found Miss Angstrom, tears flowing from her eyes as she spoke to two police officers.

"They came in and took the money from the register." She was saying.

"And that was after they struck you?" said one of the officers, gesturing toward a black eye the elderly woman was sporting.

"Yes sir, they hit me then raided the register. After that, they started destroying the place."

Elliot approached Miss Angstrom, staring at her in utter shock. The black eyes and bruises on her face were unbelievable, as was the condition of the store. She took notice of him.

"Elliot! I'm sorry, you won't be able to work today." She said.

"What…what happened?" the latter gasped, even though he had heard the story.

"Those men who came in yesterday, they came back, this time with friends, and robbed the register before wrecking the place." Miss Angstrom explained, gesturing at the destruction around her.

"Ok, ma'am, we'll keep in touch and let you know if we find anything." The officer finished his typing in on his electronic notepad and then tipped his hat before walking off.

Elliot watched him go with a look of disdain.

"They won't find anything, hell they probably won't even look very hard. Whatever gang the guys who did this belong to is probably paying a kickback to the police." He muttered while Miss Angstrom sat down in the chair she kept behind the counter.

Just as Elliot began to finish up his rant, the poor woman began to sob. Seeing this, Elliot went over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Oh dear, they made off with practically all this week's profit. I don't think I'll be able to stay in business. If only Richard was here, he was better at holding them at bay then I ever was."

Elliot patted her shoulder, but could not think of anything to say. What could he say? He hadn't been there. Maybe if he had, he could have helped. The idea actually made him laugh a little. Elliot was not a fighter and he knew it. Chances were that if he had been at the store when the men had trashed the place they would have taken him apart along with it. No, there would have been nothing he could have done, still it made him angry.

"Well…" said Miss Angstrom with a small sniff, "I guess you can go home if you like Elliot. There isn't going to be much work to be done for a bit…maybe not ever again."

At first the young lad considered staying to help his poor employer (well, maybe former employer) clean up. However, after careful consideration, he nodded.

"I'll…uh…I'll come by tomorrow to help you with anything I can, Miss Angstrom." He promised her.

The grateful woman hugged him tightly. She had never had any children of her own, and young Elliot was the closest she had to a son. She and her husband had scooped the poor boy off the street when he was twelve and had given him work. He'd been in their lives for the last ten years. Elliot had been there for her when her husband had passed away, and had helped her carry on the business. She owed him a lot.

After releasing Miss Angstrom from his grip, Elliot turned and headed out of the store. He could hear the dear lady continue to sob as he left, and his resolve strengthened further. This had to stop, and if he could not do it himself, he would find someone who would.

He would find Spiegel.

* * *

The Red Dragon Syndicate headquarters had never really recovered from the one man assault it had endured the year before. Sure, there had been some repairs. The large dome on top was almost completely rebuilt, and the front door as well. However, other damages remained, such as the destroyed wall of the second floor and the large opening on the side of the building caused by explosive charges that had been set by Spike. In the old days the repairs would have been completed in weeks. However, the two coups in a row had greatly weakened the once proud crime organization. Most of their money making enterprises had either collapsed or been brought down by ISSP. Indeed, it had been a rough year for the Red Dragons.

Now, near the top floor, two men conversed inside what remained of the Elders Chambers (the damage to them during Vicious's coup had not yet been rectified).

"What do you mean they held a Calling?" asked the first man.

"They held one at the Galilee Hotel yesterday. Most all of the Syndicates were present." Replied his companion.

"All except us?"

"Yes sir."

"And what happened at this Calling?"

"They voted on our dissolution. My informant says the resolution passed, sir."

"What!? But we did not even have any representation! They made no request of us to be present at the meeting!"

"My informant said that Asker reported we declined to send representation."

"Damn him!" the first man slammed his foot on the ground in frustration and turned to look out the massive hole in the wall at the sparkling lights of the city beyond. He was silent for a moment before letting out a sigh.

"It's a power play, and we're in no position to keep Asker and the Riche at bay." He said quietly.

"Not to mention ISSP slowly closing the noose around our necks, like they are Grayson." The second man reminded him.

"What happened?" said the latter, more to himself, "how could the old days have died out so fast? How could the old warriors have gone? What can we do? What can any of us do?"

"I don't know, sir." Admitted the younger.

There was a deep silence after that. The elder man continued to stare out at the Mars skyline. He was about to turn back to face his comrade when he noted a small glint of light coming from the roof of one of the buildings off to his left. It caught his attention and he squinted at it in curiosity. It was a small flash of bright light, slow, but consistent.

"What…?" the man began, but he never got to finish.

A brighter flash suddenly flared up, and a slight "woosh" of wind was followed by the sound of a bullet slamming right in the man's forehead. He fell backward and onto the floor, dead before he'd even hit the ground.

"SIR!?"shouted the younger man, running toward his downed superior. However, no sooner had he knelt down next to the body, when a second "woosh" followed the bullet that struck his own head.

The young man slumped over the older, both beyond help. Blood had begun to flow from the holes in their heads and puddle around their entangled corpses when a series of lines were dropped and hung just outside the great hole. Soon, men dressed in black clothing, wearing night vision goggles, and carrying machine guns rappelled down them and entered through the opening. After checking to make sure the two targets were dead, the men spread out and headed for the door, guns at the ready. There was only about five of them and, after checked either side to make sure the coast was clear, the group spilled out into the hallway and started heading toward their destination.

Of course, as might be expected, not all went off without a hitch. As they were turning a corner, two syndicate guards spotted the group and opened fire. Taking cover behind the corner, the leader of the group held his men back and waited until the barrage of bullets from the Red Dragon crooks had subsided; he then popped around the corner and shot both men in the chest. Once they were down, the group moved on, though the leader stopped briefly to look at the dead men.

"Both firing without bothering to cover the other." He observed in an amused voice, "They never learn."

The intruders proceeded onward until they reached a set of double doors. The leader jiggled the handle, which was locked of course, then put his ear to the wood. He could hear excited voices talking and shouting.

"They know we're here. Get ready." He ordered his team, and they obeyed, stacking up on either side of the door.

Once they were ready, the leader and the man on the other side of the door each planted a small plastic explosive on their respective doors.

"3…2…1…breach!"

"BOOOOM!" a small, but concentrated, explosion ripped both doors of their hinges.

The intruders stormed in, spraying a hail of bullets onto the sparse defenders of the room. There was only two or three Red Dragon men, and the first two were cut down almost instantly. The third took cover behind a large shelf filled with e-docs (electronic documents) and fired blindly at the group. One of the stray shots hit the leader of the assaulters and grazed his arm. He grunted and stepped back a little while his comrades laid down supporting fire.

"Are you alright?" asked one of the men.

"I'm fine, get in there and find the records! We don't have much time!" the leader shouted back.

The man nodded, then pulled a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it behind the shelf behind which the remaining Red Dragon hid desperately from the bullets of the interlopers.

"BLAM!" the grenade not only blew half of the shelf apart but also tore the flesh off the entire left side of its intended target.

Once the room was clear the black masked group flooded in. The leader of the group looked over the destroyed shelf and e-books before glaring at the man who had tossed the grenade.

"If you've destroyed what we're after…" he began, but the object of his rebuke cut him off.

"No, they'll keep it in a more secure place."

"Over here!" one of the other men shouted.

"You two watch the door!" the leader barked at the two remaining men who took up positions on either side of the doorway with guns at the ready.

Meanwhile, the leader and his assistant approached a much large shelf which contained only a few E-books (small blue bars of light that signified the information stored within). The leader then took a small transfer stick from his pocket and plugged it into the slot in the side.

"We hot company!" shouted one of the men watching the door who began to exchange fire with several approaching syndicate members.

"Hold them off!" the leader ordered, watching intently as the small loading bar in the transfer device slowly filled as the desired files were hacked and transferred.

The sounds of gunfire filled the room as more syndicate members arrived on the scene.

"Sir, we're out gunned here!"

"Go help them!" the leader ordered the third man, who nodded and headed over to the door way to lay down suppressing fire.

The bar on the transfer piece was a little over half way.

"Come on, come on…" muttered the second man who was also watching it.

Finally, the remaining portion of the bar filled rapidly and "transfer complete" flashed on the screen.

"We got it! Let's go!" the leader shouted, unplugging the transfer bar and shoving it back in his pocket.

The men watching the door each took a small canister from his belt and pulled the pins out of them before tossing them in the hallway. The canisters let out small explosions before smoke began to pour from them, filling the hall and doorway with an impenetrable cloud of almost luminescent white smoke.

While this was being done, the leader and his second took large C-4 charges from their packs and placed them on the far wall of the room. Once clear, they detonated them.

"KABOOOOM!"

The ensuing explosion opened a massive hole in the wall, through which the lights of the Mars skyline shined.

"Clear out, go, go, go!" the leader and his second shouted in unison as they charged the hole and leapt out of it.

Covered by the smoke, and after firing a few more shots, the other men followed suit. Soon all five men were free falling fifty stories to the ground. When they were about three quarters of the way down, all five men pressed buttons on the sides of their packs. The bottoms burst out and two sets of knobs burst out. The knobs turned green and began to hum, and all five men's' falls were slowed to a safer speed, though did not stop. They hit the sidewalk, some grunting a little, but otherwise unharmed. Right on cue, two black vans screamed around the corner and screeched to a halt in front of the group. The sliding doors opened and the five men boarded their respective vehicles, three in one and the leader and his second in the other.

Once on board, the leader removed his mask and was reveled to be the young man who had been speaking with Asker outside of the hotel the previous day.

"Schroder, call Asker and telling him we have the records. We're heading for the spaceport now and we'll be on Earth in the next twenty-four hours." He commanded his second, who removed his own mask.

Schroeder did as ordered and activated the communicator in the van. The screen stayed fuzzy for a few seconds before Asker's face appeared.

"Well?" he inquired.

"We have the records, sir. All intact from the look of them."

"Good, bring them back to head quarters, we'll analyze them there."

"Yes sir." Schroder answered as the screen went fuzzy once more.

"The Red Dragons are finished. Without their records, their remaining contacts will abandon them overnight."

"Indeed." The other man agreed with a nod and a wide smile.

"And we'll be there to fill in the gap."

* * *

_Hello, hope you lot have been enjoying thus far. I haven't heard from anyone in a while, so if you could drop a review and let me know how I'm doing, I'd much appreciate it. Cheers. _


	4. Spiegel

Chapter 4

Spiegel

As it turned out, finding Spiegel was a lot easier said than done. Elliot spent practically the whole day going from store to store on the street asking around. What did not make it any easier was the fact that all Elliot had was the man's last name. Or was it his first name? Elliot had no idea. All he had was the name and a description. In the case of the description however, luck was more kind. There were few men in Outland Station with green hair and a set of brown eyes, one more light brown than the other. As his search continued he encountered shop keepers and bar tenders that recognized the description, but had no idea where to locate Spiegel when he wasn't frequenting their places of business. He spent most of the day following up lead after lead with no results.

At last, as the overhead display began to fade, revealing the endless darkness of space spattered with twinkling stars did he finally hit something.

"Yeah, I know a guy who looks like that. When he's not here, he's usually at that club down on Keller, what's it called…..? Caeline's, that's it." A bartender at a place called "The Spigot" had told him.

Elliot had thanked the man before heading to the club. He had passed by it several times before, so knew its location. The building was pulsing with light, a flashy show of the decadence of Outland Station. As gilded as the rest of the place. Entering the club at least was the easy part. The bouncer at the door gave him a rather hard look but made no effort to stop Elliot as he entered.

The club was certainly at its peak hour. Lights flashed on and off in different colors in a menagerie of techno music. Many were dancing on the massive dance floor that was illuminated by flashing lights. Others were busy either drinking at the bar or at the many scattered tables that surrounded the dance floor. Elliot had been to a club like this once before, a long time ago. He didn't much have the stomach for the party scene though. He preferred the quiet of home. But now, the situation demanded it, so he pushed on through the crowd until he reached the bar. The barman was a middle aged guy with black hair and a beard to match.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for somebody." Elliot shouted over the music.

"And?" replied the man gruffly.

"Well…I was hoping you might know him. His name's Spiegel."

"Look man, if you're not gonna drink, then beat it!"

"Can you just tell me if you've seen him?!" Elliot was fast getting irritated. He'd been on the hunt all day and he was not about to let this booze jockey stop him.

"You heard him, drink or piss off." Said another patron, a brawny man with red hair, who was standing next to Elliot. The man nodded to the bartender.

"I got this, Jack, you go back to serving."

The bartender nodded and went back to pouring drinks while Elliot turned to the man with a look of indignation.

"I don't think this is any of _your _business, friend." He said angrily.

"I'm not your friend, jack ass. Now I think you should take a walk."

"I'm not going anywhere until I find Spiegel." Elliot insisted, crossing his arms defiantly.

The man grabbed the young lad by the collar and pulled him close.

"I got five seconds to beat it before I take you apart, you little shit!" the man growled. The stench of alcohol on his breath was so foul that it caused Elliot to turn his head away with a sound of disgust.

The man noticed this and scowled.

"Alright…" he said, "Maybe you need a little lesson why you shouldn't go fucking with people during their happy hour."

The man raised a fist and Elliot shut his eyes in preparation for what was coming. He was no stranger to a beating. Breaker and his pals had worked Elliot over more than once, and even his father had dished out a whack or three when he was a child. Still, it didn't make it any less painful, and he flinched a little when a hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder.

"You keep roughing the new people up, and this place is gonna see a drop in business." Said a familiar voice.

Elliot opened his eyes and turned to see Spiegel standing behind him, one hand on Elliot's shoulder and the other closed around a bottle.

"Stay out of this, asshole." The bruiser warned Spike, who merely grinned.

"If you wanna fight someone, why not someone who actually _can _fight." He suggested nonchalantly.

"RAAAGGH!" the man let out a roar of rage and threw a punch at Spike's still grinning face.

Spike dodged it as easily as he had the men in the store's blows. He then slammed his knee into the man's stomach and he crumpled to the floor groaning in pain.

"Typical drunk, all bark, no bite." Spike observed to a stunned Elliot.

"I…ummm…that is I…I mean…" he stuttered, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the man he had been hunting all day now stood before him and had saved him a second time.

"C'mon." was all Spiegel said in reply, gesturing for Elliot follow him.

The younger did so and the green-haired man led him through some more people to a small, round table with two chairs on either side of it. An empty glass sat on the table and Spiegel filled the glass before setting the bottle down next to it and taking a seat. He gestured for Elliot to be seated in the chair opposite, and he did so.

"So…" said Spike, after taking a sip from his glass of liquor.

"So?" asked Elliot, still a little confused.

"So, you were looking for Spiegel. Well here I am. What do you want?"

"Right, well…um…it's uh…"

Spike let out a sigh and finished off the rest of his glass before refilling it while waiting for Elliot to find his voice.

"I guess, you don't remember me, but…"

"The stock boy from the mom and pop grocery store."

"Oh…well…yeah. Anyway, the store was ransacked by those gangsters that he ran off. They robbed the register and roughed Miss Angstrom up pretty bad."

"Miss Angstrom?"

"The woman who owns the place."

"Ok, so what does that have to do with me?" Spike inquired as he started on his second glass.

"We need to keep these guys away from the store. I was hoping maybe you could help us out with that." Elliot explained.

At this, Spike let out a laugh.

"Sorry, I'm not a body guard for hire, kid." He said.

"Look, we need help here."

"Go to the police then, this sort of stuff is there department."

"They aren't going to help. Half don't take their job seriously, and the other half is too busy picking up the slack from the other half to take something like this seriously." Elliot insisted, growing frustrated.

"Look, I'm sorry, kid, but I'm not…"

"Elliot, my name's Elliot!" the latter snapped, not appreciating the moniker of 'kid'.

Spike said nothing for a few seconds, but stared at Elliot in silence. The young man wished he could have known what the other man was thinking.

"Elliot…" said Spike at last, in a slow but deliberate tone. "I'm sorry for your problems, but I see no reason to make them my own."

"Ok…" the latter replied slowly, clearly deep in thought, "so…how much?"

"Huh?"

"How much would it take to incite you to make them your problems?"

"A lot more than any mom and pop grocery store could ever put up, I'll tell you that much." Said Spike, actually giving a dry chuckle.

"Well then…" Elliot was struggling for some argument, some way to convince this man to help them. He had spent a whole day trying to find them, Elliot DeLowe was not about to walk away empty handed.

"Teach me then."

"What?" Spike was surprised by this request.

"You can probably tell I'm not a fighter. But I saw you take on those four guys without breaking a sweat. So, teach me how to fight. If you won't help us, teach me to help ourselves."

"No way, I'm not gonna be your drill sergeant either."

"How much?"

We've been through this, more than…"

"What if I could get the Woolongs? How much?"

"Where's a stock boy get that kind of money."

"How much, Spiegel?

"Spike, my name's Spike."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as each man stared the other down. Spike took the opportunity to size Elliot up. The young man was certainly no brawler. He did not have the bulk, or the skill based on what Spike had seen of his performance in a fight thus far. Still, the kid had fire in him, that much was clear. Despite this however, Spike still had misgivings about the whole thing. The last man he had trained (albeit it briefly) had wound up dead. The last thing he was after was another body on his conscience.

Suddenly, the look on Elliot's face turned from one of stone cold resolution to one of concern. The way they were seated, Spike sat with his back toward the bar and front door of the club while Elliot was seated opposite. Seeing the look on Elliot's face, Spike remained calm as he reached for his glass.

"What's wrong?" he inquired.

"You know that guy you decked at the bar for me?"

"Yeah?"

"He's back, and he's got friends with him." Sure enough, the angry drunk and group of closely following thugs was making their way across the dance floor toward the table where the pair now sat.

"How many?" asked Spike, his voice still surprisingly calm as he swigged down his remaining glass.

"I'd say at least eight including the lead guy."

"Hmmm, this should be interesting." Spike muttered, putting the glass back on the table.

As the group of men drew closer, Elliot began to get nervous.

"What…I mean, what are we gonna do?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the men bearing down on them.

"_You _are gonna get up and back away from the table as fast as you can when I tell you." Spike said in an instructional tone as he straightened himself a little.

"Wait, you aren't actually…?" Elliot never got to ask if Spike was mad enough to take on the odds he was currently facing.

The men were on them, and the leader of the gang stepped forward so that he was standing right behind Spike.

"Hey, ass wipe, I got a score to settle with you!" the man growled.

"NOW!" Spike shouted.

Elliot, rather than argue, did as he was told and jumped out of his seat so quickly that it fell backward and he backed up as far as he could until his back hit the wall. Meanwhile, Spike grabbed the bottle of liquor and leapt out of his chair, spinning around as he did so, and smashed it across the man's head. The men fell to the ground, stunned and dazed while blood and liquor ran down the side of his face. Spike, now in fighting stance, watched as three of the seven remaining attackers advanced on him while two more moved to help their downed leader. Several people screamed and many of the patrons began to clear the area as the brawl ensued. Others gathered around at a distance.

Spike was cool as ice as the three other men moved in for the kill. The first threw a punch which he ducked under. While the first man stumbled forward from the momentum of his attempted blow, the second was moving in to punch Spike. The former enforcer laid the second man out with a direct kick to the jaw. The third man stepped back a bit, and Spike moved forward, thinking that the man was frightened. This was not the case however, as he quickly discovered. The man whose blow Spike had dodged earlier had recovered and now grabbed him from behind, pinning Spike's arms behind his back. The man in front of him now moved in. Spike had been in such a situation before and he did just as he had always done. He waited until the man intending to pummel him got close. He then used the man holding him as a back board and shifting his momentum so he was leaning back; Spike lifted both legs and slammed his feet viciously into his would-be-assaulters chest. The move had both desired effects. First, the man in front flew back and landed on his ass with a grunt, while clutching his chest in pain. Second, the man holding Spike was knocked back by the momentum, and both men tumbled to the ground.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction over his captor, Spike then rammed his elbow into the man's gut, causing him to flinch in pain and his grip to weaken. The latter pried his way easily from the grasp and got to his feet before turning and swiftly delivering a scissor kick to the downed attacker's ribs. He was not about to get back up. Spike turned just in time to see the man he had kicked away from his earlier was back at it, this time charging at Spike wildly with his fist raised and giving a shout. The more skilled fighter side stepped the hasty and ill conceived attack and delivered a punch to the back of the man's head. He too fell, out cold. Spike grinned at the five fallen men around him before turning to the leader of the group who was still being supported by his remaining two comrades.

"GET HIM!" the man shouted, his two flankers obeyed, releasing him and charging at Spike.

Spike waited patiently until they were both right in front of him. Then, he grabbed both men by the collars and, using their own momentum, brought them crashing into each other head first right in front of him.

"CRACK!" both their skulls sounded as both men fell to the ground, more KOs for the count.

However, while Spike was doing this, the leader of the gang reached behind him and pulled a pistol, which he aimed at Spike who now stood looking down at his latest victory.

"He's got a gun!" shouted one of the observing patrons with a scream.

Spike turned to see himself looking down the man's gun's barrel. He was too far to do anything and the man had him clean in his sights. He remained cool as ever though, almost apathetic toward the situation.

"What kind of man faces death like that?" the man holding the weapon found himself thinking briefly, before shaking off the question and aiming right for Spike's forehead. Afraid or not, this guy was a dead man!

"NO!" Elliot, who had seen the pistol and managed to make his way through the crowd, shouted as he lunged from the side and grabbed the man's extended arm. It marred his aim enough that the gun went off, but the bullet missed Spike's head by inches and traveled upward before slamming into the far wall of the club harmlessly.

An outright panic followed the gunshot as patrons screamed, shouted, and those who had not fled when the fight began, now scattered like space dust in a gateway. Meanwhile, Elliot struggled to keep his grip on the head man's arm, but was failing miserably, as might be expected. The man soon wrenched it from Elliot's hands and hit the young man across the face with his pistol. Elliot fell to the floor, grasping at his face and gritting his teeth in pain. He looked up at the man who now stood over him with gun at the ready with a grin on his face.

"Wrong move, asshole." The hooligan said before aiming down at the defenseless Elliot and tightening his finger around the trigger.

Elliot closed his eyes in preparation for the inevitable.

"SMASH!" the sound of breaking glass emanated instead, and Elliot opened his eyes in time to see the man fall to the ground, also out for the count, and Spike standing behind him with a broken beer bottle in hand. After kicking the gun away from the unconscious man's hand, he offered his own to Elliot, which the boy took and was lifted to his feet.

"Come on, I don't feel like dealing with the police tonight." Spike said in such a nonchalant tone that it made Elliot feel sick.

He acted like what had just happened was no big deal. Still, he too did not wish to have to explain the events to the police (who were more likely to run the both of them in) so he followed toward the doors of the club.

None of the bystanders tried to stop them.

* * *

Ethan Garcia stood in the rain while looking over the still smoking building that was the Red Dragon Headquarters. He was s fairly tall man with fairly short black hair and a set of thick black eyebrows over a pair of greenish blue eyes. Though clean shaven, he had the look of a cop that had been through the mill, and that he had. He shivered a little despite the brown raincoat he had on.

The reports of gunshots and explosions had brought the ISSP down, and after the scene was declared secure, the head of the ISSP himself arrived. As he continued to observe his men cleaning up the mess and taking down reports, the sounds of footsteps on the rainy road behind him caused him to turn. A fairly young woman with brown hair and matching eyes dressed in a black coat and matching trousers stood behind him. Garcia's eyes were strangely driven to her shoes which stood out against her outfit as they were a pair of old, brown combat boots.

"Well?" asked Garcia.

"They met with the Syndicate members at Hotel Galilee. I didn't get a chance to listen in on the meeting itself, but I overheard a conversation between Wake and Carson." The woman reported in a dutiful, almost military like manner.

"So they are dirty then."

"You knew that long before now."

"Yes, but confirmation never hurts; now we just need some good solid evidence."

"Them attending a meeting of gangsters isn't enough?"

"For a court? No, we'll need more than that. What did you manage to overhear?"

"They're jumpy, what with Grayson on trial and all. They'll all be watching their asses from now on, you can bet on that."

"They should be."

"They're also concerned about Spiegel."

At this Garcia's look turned to one of interest.

"Why? No one's seen or heard from him since he escaped the hospital."

"They think he has access to the financial records and could rat out the ones on the Red Dragon's payroll."

"But the records are gone now. Who ever hit this place took off with them."

"Regardless, they're placing a bounty on him." Said the woman, after looking at the building briefly.

"A bounty?"

"4.5 Million Woolongs."

Garcia let out a whistle. "A hefty sum."

"Damn straight, every bounty hunter in the galaxy's gonna be after him for that kind of bread." The woman agreed with a nod.

Garcia said nothing for a time. Instead, he went back to staring at the half destroyed Red Dragon HQ, lost in deep thought.

"He could be an asset." He mumbled.

"Sorry sir?"

"If Spiegel agrees to testify, he could help clean house…very effectively as a matter of fact."

"Are you sure? Spiegel never struck me as the type to turn nark on his former companions."

"With the right incentive, he just might." Said Garcia thoughtfully, " I need you to find him and bring him to me. Just me you understand, no one else in ISSP. This stays between the two of us only."

"Why not send one of your deputies to do it?"

"Why do you think I employ your services? I don't know who's been bought and who hasn't. Right now you're the only one I can trust. If Spiegel really can break this thing, I can finally start putting some major players away for good."

"I'm just in this to make a living, sir." The brunette insisted, still not quite comfortable with the new assignment.

"Then I'll double your fee if need be. I want him found." Garcia insisted vehemently.

"And how would I find him?"

"You know him better than me. I've never even met him."

"Sir, I was in contact with him for maybe 24 hours. I haven't heard from him since the Halloween parade incident."

"Maybe, but I've known you long enough to know that you're good at reading people, Elektra. I know you'll find him." Replied the head commissioner.

Elektra said nothing for a bit, contemplating her next move.

"Sir, I don't think…"

"Damn it Elektra, I'll _triple _your fee then." Garcia said in annoyance with a hint of almost desperation. He turned to look at her.

"I need him brought to me, alive and well. His testimony could be key."

Elektra sighed. Triple rate was a lot of money, and the bills didn't pay themselves. Ever since the Halloween incident with Vincent it had been rather difficult for her to find work.

"Alright…" she agreed at last, "I'll do it."

"Good, you better leave as soon as possible if they already have the bounty posted. You'll need to reach him quickly." Garcia suggested, turning to look at her.

To his surprise, she was already gone. Looking back at the HQ, Garcia let out a heavy sigh. His burden had been great since his election. Grayson's indictment had been a real breakthrough, but now it was deadlocked again. He did not know who was dirty and who wasn't, and there were even fewer officers he truly trusted. But now, this Spiegel fellow could finally tip the balance in his favor. The idea made him grin with satisfaction at the idea of Commissioner Wake and his cronies standing before a jury.

His war on corruption was reaching a turning point.

* * *

_Some good old fashion fisticuffs for Spike, and a return of Elektra. Things are definitely heating up. Please take the time to review, some feedback would be much appreciated. Cheers. _


	5. All or nothing

Chapter 5

All or nothing

Spike opened the door to his apartment and entered with Elliot on his heels, who shut the door behind them. Spike headed straight for the kitchen reached into the fridge before pulling out a small, silver flask and pouring a small amount into a glass before holding it out to Elliot.

"What is it?" the younger inquired.

"A little mixture of my own, it doesn't really have a name."

"No thanks, I don't want it." Elliot muttered, but Spike pushed the glass into the boy's shaking hand.

"Trust me, you do." He insisted.

Elliot took an experimental sip and gave a grimace as he swallowed the concoction, which burned his throat all the way down to his stomach. He gave a cough against the burn. Then, several long minutes of silence followed as Elliot felt the liquor mixing in his stomach and Spike took a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit up before taking a draw.

"You saved my ass back there." Spike noted, after taking another puff of his cigarette.

"You…you really think he would have shot me?" Elliot asked quietly.

"Oh yeah, without a second thought."

Elliot was still struggling with the shock of it

"Then I guess we're even."

"Yeah…"

There was another uncomfortable silence. Elliot fidgeted with his empty glass before standing.

"Well, thanks for saving me. Good luck Mr. Spiegel." He said before turning and heading for the apartment door.

Spike watched him go, his mind grappling with an issue that had been growing all the way from the club. The boy had saved Spike twice, first by warning him of the approaching gang, and second by marring the leader's aim. On top of that, though he would never admit it, there was something about Elliot that Spike liked, something admirable about the young man, something that almost reminded Spike of himself.

"Wait…"

Elliot stopped and turned in response to Spike's hail. For a moment Spike just stared at him.

"I'll do it." He said finally, causing Elliot's eyes to go wide.

"You…you'll help us?"

"Like I said, I'm not body guard, but…I'll teach you to be one."

"You'll teach me to fight?"

"To fight, to use a gun, the whole package; after that, no gangsters should give you any problems."

Elliot was striding over to Spike with a wide smile on his face.

"Thank you, thank you so…"

"One month." Spike added, causing Elliot to stop short and frown.

"One month?"

"Yeah."

Elliot was silent for a minute as he processed the caveat.

"That's…not very long."

"Well then let's hope you're a fast learner."

The latter would have complained further, feeling that one month was in no way sufficient for him to learn how to fight as good as Spike, but fearing that an argument may cause him to change his mind, Elliot only nodded. That was a battle to be fought later. Instead, he held out his hand.

"Deal."

Spike took the hand and shook his.

"Alright, you come by tomorrow morning and we'll get started."

"Alright then." Elliot started toward the door, and then turned again.

"Thank you again, Mr. Spiegel." He said in a deeply grateful voice.

"Spike…just call me Spike." the latter insisted, and Elliot nodded before heading though the door.

Spike watched him go, drawing on his cigarette. He felt like he should have said something more, but could not decide what to say, so allowed Elliot to leave in silence.

"What are you doing?" a voice in Spike's mind chastised him.

"Do you remember what happened to the last man you tried to train? He lies dead in the ground."

He shook his head, trying to clear the voice out of it. For better or worse, he was committed now; he owed Elliot that after the boy had saved his life twice, if nothing else. Deciding that he needed a drink, Spike poured himself a glass of his concoction and downed it in one gulp (being more used to it then Elliot was) then leaned back in his chair. The exhaustion that he had somehow managed to fight off now over took him and he fell into a restless sleep.

It was going to be a long day tomorrow.

* * *

Asker sat in his hotel room in the hotel Galilee going over some data on his computer. His tried, blood shot eyes moved from the screen to the clock hologram hovering above the dresser which read 2:24 A.M. Asker gave yawn and shook his head a little. He then switched off his computer and stood up, intending to dress for bed when there was a knock at the door. Perplexed at who would be visiting him at this late hour, the elder man reached into his pocket and drew out a pistol before moving slowly over to the door. He then glanced through the peep hole and recognized the magnified face of a angry looking Silas. With a sigh, Asker opened the door.

"Silas my dear fellow, it's a rather late hour to be calling at." He greeted the younger with a smile.

Silas ignored the greeting and stepped past Asker into the room. Having kept his pistol out of sight, Asker slid it back into his pocket, but was sure to keep a hand on it as Silas stopped and turned to face him, anger still clear on his face.

"I have received a report that troubles me." He said in a calm voice that nonetheless held a strong tone of discontent.

"It must have indeed for you to walk the halls so late."

"Don't play coy with me!" Silas snapped, his patience wearing thin very quickly, "I know you had something to do with the attack on the Red Dragon headquarters tonight by unknown assailants."

At this, Asker's face turned to one of seriousness with a hint of irritation.

"I assume you have some evidence to justify your slinging around such heinous accusations." He replied in a calm, deliberate voice.

Silas stepped closer so that his face was inches from Asker's, and the latter tightened his grip on the pistol in his pocket.

"I don't need evidence; I _know _you had something to do with it." he hissed.

Asker kept his poker face on and continued to stare coolly into Silas's dark brown eyes.

"Well…_you_ may not, but the Calling does. So unless you have some proof connecting me to the assault, I suggest you cease your conjectures and leave me be." He said, gestured toward the door.

"You think you'll get away with this? The Calling will not stand for it, and neither will the other Mar's syndicates. It goes against all protocol and is nothing more than aggressive expansion." Silas retorted, ignoring the order to leave.

At this, Asker grinned and gave a derisive snort.

"That's the problem with you young hot-heads; you never see the big picture."

"And I suppose you old geezers have a gift for it."

"You don't have to be old to see a bigger picture. Vicious was proof of that."

"And look where he is now."

"Most men can see the big picture, but few are good at changing it to suit them."

A tense silence followed as both men tried to stare the other down. Finally, Silas broke and stepped around Asker before heading for the door. He paused in the doorway however and looked back at Asker one last time.

"When I've exposed you, you'll be executed, and I'll be there to enjoy every minute of it." He said with a cruel smile.

"Someone will be dead when the smoke clears, that's for certain." Asker replied in a tone that did not match the threat it accompanied.

Silas frowned and then headed off down the hall back toward his room. Asker watched him go for a minute then shut the door and walked over to where his communicator lay on the nightstand. Picking it up, he scrolled through his contacts until he found who he was looking for and pressed it.

The communicator let out a dull tone as it attempted to connect with the intended recipient.

"Hello?" the face of the young man who had led the HQ assault appeared.

"Tailor, is it secure?" Asker inquired anxiously.

"Yes sir, we'll be landing on Earth in a few hours. I'll take it straight to the HQ."

"Good, I'll be joining you once the Calling is over."

"Yes sir."

Asker ended the communication and set the device back on the nightstand before meandering over to the window to look out at the glistening Mars skyline. Silas would likely report his suspicions to other syndicates, many of whom were not fond of the Nouveau Riche, the syndicate which Asker led. This would garner them more scrutiny from the other groups. Still, they had come too far to give up now.

It was all or nothing.

* * *

The sun had begun to peak over the horizon as the ship on which Tailor and Schroder now arrived back on their home planet in. As the shuttle docked, Schroder reached into the compartment where they had stored the precious data transfer box and pulled it out before placing it in a suitcase. After closing the case and making sure it was secure, the two men departed the shuttle and followed the meager crowd of other travelers into the spaceport.

"Nice to be home." Schroder noted as they made their way through the crowded spaceport (for rock showers were rarer in the early hours of the morning, and as a result most flights left at this time).

"I just wanna get this thing to HQ and then pass out, I'm beat." Tailor replied as he lit a cigarette and gave it a draw.

"Call Kirsches and tell him to bring the car to the front of the spaceport to pick us up." He continued after a puff.

The two mean stopped at the top of an escalator and Schroder pulled out his communicator and started searching for Kirsches on his contacts list while Tailor held tightly to the suitcase and continued to glance around while smoking his cig.

Meanwhile, at the bottom and just to the left of the escalator was the shipping/receiving office. Inside sat a brown haired man of muscular build along with a younger, skinnier man with spiked black hair.

The man at the front desk suddenly appeared, holding a briefcase (that was ironically the exact same color and size as its brother which was not in the hand of Tailor only feet away) and looked over at the two men.

"Package for Mr….uuuh…Appledeal?"

"Appledelhi." Said the brown-haired man excitedly as he jumped to his feet and rushed over to the counter.

The man at the counter held the suitcase out to him, which Mr. Appledelhi took with great enthusiasm and opened, revealing a large amount of wires, circuit boards, and other such technological implements. At the sight of it, Mr. Appledelhi smiled even more broadly, if that was possible.

"Excellent, apart from some assembly being needed, it looks to be intact. Just imagine Macintosh, when we put this baby together we'll be able to track the rock showers even more accurately than those weather buffoons! We'll be there before the showers hit, then we can map it all!"

"Uhhh, it's McIntyre, sir." His assistant corrected him for what felt like the billionth time in their time together.

"That's what I said, McSnyter, now come on we have work to do."

The two men left the office and headed out into the crowded spaceport hallways. At that exact moment, having been told to meet their ride at the pickup/drop off balcony, Tailor and Schroder were making their way down the escalator and had just reached the bottom when the highly excited Mr. Appledelhi, who had been practically running through the crowd, ran right into Tailor. Being a man of such great build, he knocked the smaller Tailor over before tripping over the feet of the nearby Mr. Schroder and falling over himself. Both suitcases clattered to the ground and landed right on top of one another, as did Mr. Appledelhi and Tailor.

"Hey, watch where you're walking you big…" Schroder began to yell at the dazed Appledelhi, but Tailor recovered quickly and grabbed his comrade's arm, shaking his head.

The latter then got to his feet and offered Appledelhi his hand.

"Are you alright sir? My apologies that was rather careless of me."

"Think nothing of it, young man." Mr. Appledelhi said jovially as he got to his feet.

He then bent and grabbed what he perceived to be his suitcase and gestured toward McIntyre.

"Come on, McPyle, let's go." He said, before starting off toward the parking garages.

"Yes sir, Mr. Appledelhi" the black haired young man called as he followed after him.

"There goes a real pair." Schroder muttered as he watched them go, "why did you stop me? I would have busted his head in."

"Did you see the size of him? Somehow I doubt that, and we need to keep a low profile." Tailor reminded him before picking up the remaining suit case and studying it.

"We better check to make sure it's not damaged." He said, before heading toward a nearby rest room.

Schroder followed and they entered the dimly lit men's room before setting the brief case on the sink and popping open the clasps. However, upon opening the case, both men let out gasps of shock. Rather than the data box, a mess of wires and other electronics greeted their gaze.

"What the hell is this?!" Schroeder exclaimed, grabbing some of the wires.

"Oh shit, he's got it." Tailor muttered, before turning and rushing out of the bathroom.

"Hey wait!" Schroder called as he followed after his boss.

Tailor stood outside the bathroom staring out into the crowded hallway, hoping nonetheless to spot the man. He was, after all rather tall and thick of build, but to no avail. There was no sign of him or his skinny assistant.

"Damn!" he swore before taking out his communicator

He found the contact he was looking for and activated it. After a few blips, a voice answered: "hello?"

"We have a problem." Said Tailor as he watched Schroder continue to scan the thick spaceport crowd.

"What kind of problem?" asked the voice.

"A big kind. I need all the info we can get on somebody."

"Alright, what's the name?"

Tailor paused for a moment as he recalled the one name he had heard before the pair had vanished.

"Appledelhi."

* * *

The Ganymede Sea had a strange way of holding ones attention for longs periods. Especially when the sun hit it just right and the brilliant shimmering pools of light danced across its surface like some ballet that only the sea itself truly understood. Jet sat atop the building that he and Bob had met on so many times before staring out at the sea in a dreamlike state. There were so many memories in that sea, especially for him.

"Good to see you made it." The voice brought Jet back to reality and he turned to see Bob standing a few feet away.

"If nothing else, I sure do miss the view." Jet observed, looking back out at the sea.

"That's only cause you've been away. It gets old after a while." Bob replied, moving so that he was standing beside Jet and looking out over the blue waters as well.

"So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?" asked Jet, after a moment or so of silence.

Bob said nothing at first, and appeared to be deep in thought. Then, with a sigh, he spoke.

"I think I'm gonna turn in my badge."

"What? Why?"

"Garcia's cleaning house, and it's only a matter of time before I end up in the dust bin."

"You're not crooked Bob, not like some of those other bastards in that place."

"You seem to be forgetting those Red Eye vials that went missing. How long you think before those come back and bite me in the ass."

"Bob, that was years ago. Garcia's after the big fish, not minnows."

At this, Bob cracked a smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."

They both laughed then. After they fell silent, Jet noticed a concerned look on Bob's face.

"But that wasn't all you wanted to tell me, was it Bob?"

"No, it's about your partner."

At this, Jet snapped to attention.

"Spike? What's happened to him?" he asked, his voice filling with concern.

"Relax, nothing, or at least, not yet." Bob replied, placing a hand on Jet's shoulder in an effort to calm him.

"What do you mean, 'not yet?" Jet demanded.

The officer let out another sigh before continuing in a slow voice.

"Wake and some of the others high rank sellouts think he's dangerous, that if Spiegel testifies, he could put them all away."

"That's bullshit; Spike doesn't know who's on the Red Dragon's payroll. Never has."

"They don't know that. So they've placed a bounty on him, and it's a big one, Jet."

"Define big…"

"4.5 mil."

"Jesus." Jet leaned over the edge of the roof a little and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah…" said Bob quietly.

"Do they know where he is?" Jet asked after several minutes.

"No, no one does. I was kind of hoping you did."

Jet shook his head.

"You don't? Not even a hint?" Bob noted in surprise.

"If he wanted to come back, I knew he would. Sometimes a man's gotta walk through shit alone."

Bob nodded in understanding.

"Well, all I know is this. You're partner is worth a lot to a lot of people, and most want him dead. So if I were you, I'd try and find him."

Jet stayed silent as he stared out at the sea once more, trying to process it all. He had no idea where Spike was, or where to start even. Still, if Spike was in trouble, Jet had to find him, had to help him. He owed him that much.

"Alright…" he said finally, backing away from the edge of the building and turning to Bob.

"Thanks Bob, I really owe you one." He said, holding out his hand which Bob shook.

"You could attend my retirement party." The latter suggested humorously.

This caused a new look of concern to form on Jet's face, and Bob instantly regretted it.

"You're really gonna turn it in then?"

"The world's changing, Jet." Said the officer with a shrug, "I just don't think I can change with it."

With that, Bob turned and headed toward the door to the staircase down. Jet watched him go before looking out at the sea once more.

"That's goes for the most of us, Bob." He thought grimly.

* * *

_Things heat up indeed. Hope you lot are enjoying the story thus far. Drop a review and let me know how I'm doing if you like. Cheers. _


	6. Inevitable Complications

Chapter 6

Inevitable complications

Upon his arrival back at the Bebop, Jet immediately pulled up the Intergalactic Bounty Database and looked through it for Spike's name, if only to confirm what Bob had told him. Sure enough, as soon as the name Spiegel was in the search box, Spike's face appeared on screen dressed in his usual blue jacket, tie, and yellow shirt with that same cocky look on his face. "4.5 million Woolongs" flashed in front of Jet's face which was sinking even further.

"Oh, shit, Jesus Spike, what have you got yourself into." Jet muttered with a sigh as he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

He hoped that, at the very least, Spike was smart enough to dress a little differently than he was in the picture, but then again, Jet had never known him to wear anything else. Still, he supposed that whoever might be looking for Spike had to find him first, and no one really had any idea where he was. Jet's stomach sank further as he realized that he too was among the ranks of those who were completely ignorant of Spike's location. He had not heard from his partner in almost a year. The last words he had heard from Spike's mouth were of Julia's death. Jet was as much as square one as those who didn't know Spike as well as he did. And even with his knowledge of his partner's favorite hangouts and bars, Jet doubted it would do much good, seeing as how if Spike was actively trying to hide, he would not go to them.

He was still trying to decide his next move when a faint noise slowly began to gain his attention. It was a steady thumping sound followed by a sort of wheeze.

"The water pump." Jet realized and he stood up before leaving the cockpit and heading down the hall toward the shower.

As he got closer, he could the sound of running water and sighed. That could be only one person. Jet leaned against the wall outside the door and waited, trying all the while to think of how he was going to break the news to Faye. After a few more minutes, the water stopped and there was a long silence. The door opened and Faye, dressed in a bathrobe and wearing a towel wrapped tightly around her hair appeared. She jumped a little when she saw Jet, clearly not expecting him.

"Lost all of your earnings already?" Jet inquired with a raised eyebrow, still leaning casually against the wall.

Faye did not meet Jet's eyes as she moved around him, muttering as she did "bad run of the cards."

"I thought you never lose, Miss Queen of Hearts." The latter pointed out amusedly.

Faye scoffed at him and one of her arms bumped roughly (and obviously purposefully) into his arm causing him to stumble back a little as she passed by.

"Well, when you're decent, meet me in the cockpit, there's a bounty you might want to see." He called after Faye's retreating back as she headed down the hallway toward her room. Well, at least the room that she used when she was even around.

Jet headed back to the wheel of the Bebop and sat down in the pilot's chair, patiently waiting on Faye while still debating what really to say to her about it. As the minutes ticked by however, his patients and worry turned to irritation.

"Where is she?" he wondered, and was about to go looking or her, when the door to the cockpit opened and Faye entered, dressed in her usual outfit once more, her hair a darker black from the water.

"So what lowlife degenerate do we have to collar this time?" she inquired as she plopped down in the chair next to him and began to wring the water out of her hair a little.

"This low life degenerate." Jet muttered as he pulled up Spike's bounty and showed it to her.

Faye glanced at the screen, and then did a double take. She started at the screen for a moment before sitting up straight, leaning forward and grabbing either side of the screen before pulling herself so close that her nose was almost touching the screen. Her eyes moved at light speed as she read over the bounty at least three times.

"Oh my God." She whispered, shaking her head as if in disbelief.

"I know; I couldn't believe it either." Jet said quietly, assuming that Faye felt the same anxiety as he did, but to his utter shock a massive smile broke out across Faye's face.

"4.5 million Woolongs!? YESSSSSSSS!" Faye shouted jumping up from her chair and doing a fist pump into the air.

Jet was utterly shocked and at first could only stare at Faye dumbfounded as she did some odd dance with her fists still in the air.

After she was done, Faye went back to looking at the bounty details.

"4.5 mil, that's perfect, that's more than perfect. This could be the break that we've been waiting for." She babbled on excitedly.

"Wait a minute? Are we even looking at the same thing?!" Jet finally spoke, his voice dripping with disbelief.

"Yeah, Spike's got a bounty on his head big enough to feed the both of us for the next two years!" Faye said enthusiastically, "and we know him better than anybody, we'll have an edge over those other hunters that are sure to go after him."

"Hold on, you're not actually suggesting we turn him in?" Jet couldn't believe his ears, had the woman gone mad. This was Spike they were talking about, not some lowlife criminal.

"Have you ever seen 4.5 million Woolongs? That could really get us out of this rut we're in."

"First off, what is this 'we' shit? You're the one who has all the debts, not me! Second, are you out of your goddamn mind?!"

"NO, I'm saner than I've ever been."

"Really, because you're the one who is suggesting turning in our own friend."

"Oh, you mean the friend who walked out on us, headed off to die without even considering what he meant to others? That selfish son-of-a-bitch?"

"How many times did this 'selfish son-of-a-bitch' save your life again?"

"How many times did I save his?"

It was a tense standoff as they had both moved closer and closer until they were only inches apart, each looking steadily into the others eyes, each trying to impose their will on the other.

There was a silence so tense that the air felt as though it would snap in half until Jet spoke up in a forced calm tone.

"I have known Spike longer than you have. I owe him a lot more than you do. We have been through a lot more than you and he have, and I am sure as hell not about to stab him in the back." He said, before his voice rose to a shout, "NOW GET THE FUCK OFF MY SHIP!"

Faye said nothing, but continued to lock eyes with Jet for a few more minutes before turning with a huff and heading out of the cockpit without even a look back. Jet watched her go and sat down in the pilot's seat with a sigh. He sat there until he heard the Red Tail depart the Bebop.

"Crazy woman." He though angrily.

How could she even consider turning Spike over to the authorities? But then, after thinking about it a minute, he realized that it was probably very easy for her. Ever since Spike had departed to attack the Red Dragons she had refused to speak about him, shooting down every attempt by Jet to discuss the subject coldly. She held a deep grudge against their former fellow bounty hunter. Faye felt betrayed, and perhaps in a way she was, Jet didn't really know.

It was her mind, not his.

* * *

'_Beep…beep…beep."_

The steady beeping awoke Spike, and at first he squinted as a blinding white light met his tired eyes. When he could open them all the way and see that the light was from a bulb hanging over him he furrowed his brow in confusion. There was no light over his bed. Spike sat up slowly and found himself looking into blackness. He could not see beyond the bed he lay in, which was not even his own when he looked down at it. The white sheet and narrow confines identified it almost immediately. It was a hospital bed, and the source of the steady beeping was a heart monitor next to the bed. Utterly confused and concerned now, Spike climbed out of the bed and felt his feet touch the cold ground, cold like tiles, but could see nothing but blackness below him. Indeed, there was blackness everywhere. Spike could not see beyond the bubble of light that surrounded the bed generated by the single light bulb hanging from a ceiling of darkness. As soon as he had left the bed, the heart beat monitor let out a shrill wine as it flat lined, which Spike could not understand since no wire or tubes seemed to connect him to the machine. Upon looking down at himself, he was further surprised to see he was wearing a dark green hospital gown.

"Where the hell am I?" Spike asked the question aloud, but only his own echo came in reply.

After listening intently to the suffocating silence, he tried again.

"Hello?!"

Again his mocking voice called back the same question. Deciding that he would not get answering by screaming questions only he could hear, Spike began to wander into the blackness, his bare feet growing increasingly uncomfortable against the cold ground. God it was like walking on ice! As he walked on, Spike glanced back occasionally at the bed and the source of light above it as it drew further and further away from him. He was just beginning to wonder if he should perhaps turn back toward the bed when the faint sound of a voice reached his ears. Spike's head jerked in the directions the voice seemed to be coming from as he listened intently. After a few minutes of not moving, Spike began to slowly walk toward what he believed was the location of the voice. He apparently made the correct choice as the voice grew louder.

As the voice became clearer, Spike recognized it. He could never forget it. It was Julia, and she was singing.

"_I don't feel a thing, and I stopped remembering. The days are just like moments turned to hours." _Julia's voice sang a haunting melody that made a shiver run up Spike's spine.

"Julia?" Spike called out.

She did not reply, just kept singing, and Spike followed the sound deeper into the darkness.

"_Mother used to say, if you want you'll find a way, but mother never danced through fire showers."_

'What's going on? Why is she singing that? How could she be here?' Spike wondered as the familiar voice, dripping with melancholy, grew ever louder with each step he took.

"_I don't hear a sound, silent faces in the ground. The quiet screams, but I refuse to listen."_

Something just a head caught Spike's eyes, and he saw what appeared to be another bubble of light ahead of him and began to walk faster. Julia's voice was very acute now, and it seemed to fill his whole being.

"_If there is a hell, I'm sure this is how it smells. Wish this were a dream, but no it isn't." _

He was drawing near her now. He could see her back; clad in black, the same clothing she had been wearing the day she had been shot. Julia's back was still to him as she continued her mournful singing.

"_Walk in the rain, in the rain, in the rain. I walk in the rain, in the rain. Am I right? Or am I wrong? Is it here that I belong?" _

Spike was now right behind Julia, but she did not turn or even acknowledge him.

"Julia?" he whispered.

She stopped singing then, and there was a heavy silence as she turned slowly around. It was her alright. Her radiant blond hair shining in the white light as it hung over her shoulders. Spike locked eyes with her and there was a deep sadness within them. Upon glancing down, Spike gasped as he saw a patch of blood on her stomach, accompanied by a large bullet hole that began at her back and ended at her front.

"Oh God." Spike muttered as he stared at the grievous wound, the wound that had taken her from him.

He was about to move forward, if only to feel her. If only to confirm that she was real. But to his surprise, Julia shook her head and stepped back from him. Spike was further caught off guard by a young man who stepped out from behind her. Spike looked at the young man and recognized him. It was Elliot, but with a bullet hole in his forehead that had a blood trail running from it down toward his left eye.

They stood side by side together, not saying a word, just staring at Spike. The latter was glancing between his lover and his new protégé, his eyes always falling on the wounds each sported.

'What the hell is going on here?' he wondered as he took a step back from the horrifying couple.

"If you do not, he will die." Julia spoke suddenly, causing Spike to jump a little in surprise.

"If I don't what?" Spike asked, utterly puzzled.

However, a tugging sensation was starting to pull at his back, and Spike felt himself being pulled back into the darkness. More and more quickly he retreated from the pair, and the whole time they continued to stare blankly after him.

"Julia! JULIA!" Spike shouted as she disappeared from his view and the darkness enveloped him like an amoeba that was swallowing him whole.

"NOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

Spike was screaming 'no' as he sat up quickly in bed. His breath was coming in quick, heavy pants and he was sweating profusely. At first he sat in bed, trying to catch his breath and bearings. After realizing that the whole thing had been a nightmare, Spike calmed a little bit and lay back on the bed with a sigh.

'I do not what?' he wondered, recalling Julia's words.

Then, the face of Elliot swam before him, with that gaping hole in his head. It was brutal.

'I need a drink.' Spike got out of bed and headed toward the kitchen. However, he had only just opened the fridge and was reaching for a bottle when a loud knock at the door interrupted him.

The green haired man let out a deep sigh and grabbed a bottle of beer before slamming the fridge shut and walking over to the door as the knocking persisted. Upon opening the door, he was greeted by the face of Elliot, but thankfully minus the bullet hole in his forehead. Instead, a massive grin covered his face.

"Ready?" he asked enthusiastically.

* * *

The rain had stopped by the next morning on Mars, but the clouds remained over the artificial atmosphere creating a rather dark day indeed. So much so that the street lights remained on much later into the morning than they normally did. Against the dark morning, the red light from the sign of the "Saint Rupert's Hospital" seemed to bathe the entire street before it in an eerie red-pink hue. The sound of her boots hitting the wet pavement of the street was all Elektra could really hear as she walked toward the entrance of the hospital. When she reached the doors, the young woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a device the size of a paper clip.

After pressing a small button, she spoke into the end of it.

"Spiegel, log entry four, I've arrived at Saint Rupert's Hospital. Following his attack on the Red Dragon HQ, according to police reports, Spiegel was brought here unconscious for treatment. He remained unconscious but stable for 72 hours, and upon awakening, escaped from the hospital."

Elektra pushed a button next to the first one to cease the recording and examined the front lobby of the hospital through the front doors for a moment, then continued.

"Since this is the last reported place where Spiegel was located, I'm going to see about searching the surveillance tapes for clues."

She ceased her recording and placed the device back in her pocket before heading inside. The squeak of her wet shoes on the tile floor caused several annoyed people to shoot her reproving looks, but Elektra could care less. The nurse at the front desk looked up from some article she was skimming over in boredom on a holo-reader as the former solider approached.

"Yes ma'am, can I help you?" the white clad brunette inquired when Elektra reached the desk.

"Yeah, I'd like to have a word with your security supervisor, please." The latter requested.

"Ummm, I think you need to make an appointment." The nurse said unsurely.

Elektra rolled her eyes a little. "You new?" she asked.

At this, the nurse's cheeks went red and she gave Elektra a venomous look.

"What business is that of yours? Do you work here?" she demanded angrily.

"No, I prefer army hospitals, feels more familiar." The veteran said as she backed away from the desk and headed down the hall.

"Wait, where are you going!?" the nurse called after her.

"To find the security man."

"But…but you can't just…"

"Stop me then." Elektra said dismissively as she walked on.

At this, the nurse could only stare after Elektra in utter shock, her mouth open in disbelief. Elektra rounded a corner and out of sight before continuing down the brightly lit hall. The white paint on the walls seemed to reflect the light back, causing the hall to have an unnatural glow to it. Elektra scoffed. Was that their way of making the place seem more cheerful? After several minutes of walking and passing by doctors and nurses who seemed too busy to even notice her, she reached a door marked "Hospital Security". Unfortunately, the door was locked shut and she examined the holographic code pad off to the side of it. After several minutes of doing so, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the device she had been speaking into earlier. This time, instead of pushing the button on the bottom of it, she pressed on the back of it, which caused it to let out a beep before a red light started blinking. She then pushed the device into the holographic keypad between the number '0' and the number '1'. The whole pad turned from pale blue to red, and stayed like that for a minute or so until it turned to green, and the door to the security room slid open. Elektra withdrew the device from the pad and, after looking down the hall both ways, slipped through the door which closed behind her.

The security room looked like most every other she had ever been in. It was a medium sized square room with a table on one end with a coffee/breakfast machine on it. Across from the table was a series of screens with various security camera feeds playing across them. Two vacant chairs sat before the screens, and Elektra took up residence in one of them, causing a holographic keyboard to appear before her. She leaned forward and began working away at the keys.

"_Computer, bring up recording files for September 17th, 2071." _She typed.

"_Accessing….please enter password." _A message responded.

Elektra once again took the device from her pocket and pushed the bottom before sticking it into the keyboard.

"_Please wait…password accepted…please wait…." _Flashed across the screen.

The video monitors went blank for a moment, and then flashed back to life with the recordings of the date in question. Elektra searched the monitors until she found the one she was looking for. On it, a image of Spike lying in a hospital bed hooked up to a heart rate machine played and she fast forwarded through it until the timer read 11:37 PM. Spike stirred and awoke in the bed. After glancing around, he got up; pulling the wires that connected him to the monitor machines out of his arm and chest. He then stumbled out of the room and into the hall. Elektra switched to the next monitor which showed Spike entering the hall and getting into a confrontation with a doctor, who he turned and ran from after a few minutes of heated conversation (unfortunately the video did not come with sound). Spike fled down the halls, pursued by a few hospital security men. They at last cornered him at a dead end and he then proceeded to fight the three security men until they were all unconscious on the ground. At this, Elektra raised an eyebrow.

"Damn, even after 72 hours in the hospital he's lethal." She noted with impression.

After defeating his opponents, Spike went to one of them and took a communicator off the man before calling someone, talking to them briefly, and then placing the communicator back in the security man's pocket. He then took the outfit off another one of the men and put it on over his hospital gown. With the disguise on, Elektra watched him stroll unopposed out of the hospital.

"Jesus, how incompetent are these people. They had him on camera, and still let him walk out in that outfit. Wasn't anybody watching these cameras?" she wondered.

After watching Spike exit the hospital and effectively disappear from the security system's view outside the hospital, Elektra closed out the recording and entered a new command into the computer.

"_Bring up record of calls from hospital security communication devices in use at 11:53 PM on September 17__th__, 2071." _

"_Please wait….." _

A single box appeared on the screen with info on the call. According to the information, the call had been to a "Doohan's Scrap Yard" on Earth.

"Gotcha!" Elektra thought triumphantly at the new lead.

Just then, the door to the security room opened. Hearing it, Elektra quickly exited out of the program and stood up from the chair.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" demanded a chubby man with dark hair and a matching mustache dressed in a hospital security suit.

"Well, I…I was…" Elektra fumbled for an explanation.

"She was just waiting on me, Mr. Parson. Miss Ovirowa is my assistant." Said a voice from behind the security man, a voice that sounded familiar.

A tall, well built man with buzz cut black hair stepped out from behind the larger man and grinned at Elektra, who gave an internal groan upon recognizing him.

"Oh, well, I'll leave you too it then." Said the security man, before tipping his hat to Elektra, "sorry ma'am" he muttered before exiting.

The dark-haired man shut the door behind him, and then turned to face her.

"So, Elektra Ovirowa, I didn't know you were into the breaking and entering business." He said in amusement.

"And let me guess, Frasier, you've gone into the bounty hunting." The latter replied icily.

"Always the quick one, aren't you? It's been a long time since boot camp. Maybe if _I _had been selected for the "super special" squad, maybe we might have stayed close." Frasier said with a grin.

"In your dreams." Elektra shot back.

"Oh, that's right; you were too head over heels for Vincent weren't you? I hear the man went insane and tried to kill half of Mars. You sure know how to pick them, Elektra."

At this comment, Elektra sprang forward and grabbed Frasier by the collar before slamming him into the wall nearby.

"You son-of-a-bitch, Vincent was worth _twenty_ of you put together!" she hissed angrily.

Said bounty hunter just grinned wider. "Temper, temper" he scolded her mockingly.

Elektra held him there for a few more minutes, and then released him before heading for the door to the security room. She opened it, but as she stepped forward Frasier called after her.

"Did you find Spiegel then?" he asked.

Elektra paused. "If I did, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you." She muttered, before leaving the room.

Back out in the hall, a sense of worry filled her. Frasier was going to find the lead as well, and follow it. It was so simple, she was surprised ISSP had not already done so, but then they weren't exactly known for their gung ho attitude. Still, the appearance of her former, fellow recruit signified one thing.

The race to Spiegel was heating up, and while she was in the lead, it would not be for long.

* * *

_I know, it's been forever, and I apologize. It's been a busy last few weeks with finals, and then the holidays. In the meantime, with the Faye and Jet drama, Spike's strange premonition, and Elektra hot on his trail, I think I've left you lot well entertained with this one. Review and let me know how I'm doing. Cheers. _


End file.
